The Wife
by Erik'sTrueAngel
Summary: Christine Daae is a proud wife and her life seems to be perfect. Though, some things aren’t what they appear to be. OneShot


Rating: PG-13 (T)

Genre: Suspense/General

Summary: Christine Daae is a proud wife and her life seems to be perfect. Though, some things aren't what they appear to be. (One-Shot)

A/N: This is a different take on what I write and for those who don't know me, I do love a good twist time to time. This is one of them. A better one than _An Untimely Accident_. I got this idea after reading Kate Chopin's _A Story of an Hour _and it has the element of a surprise ending in it like Chopin's. It's not like hers by any means but a general sense of it is. That and the product of reading way too many Stephen King novels. :grins: I also know this will come off as confusing in the beginning but trust me at the end it will all make sense.

The Wife

By: Erik'sTrueAngel

Christine opened her eyes and panic. _Where am I? _she thought frantically, her alert chocolate brown eyes darting around the darken room nervously. _This is not my room!_

She sat up in bed, her long chestnut curls covering her pale shoulders. She took a couple slow deep breaths before calming herself down. _There's no need to worry. Everything's fine._

Her left hand went up to brush back a few strands when she accidentally scraped her cheek. Surprised, she held her hand out to find a large diamond embedded in an onyx band. Smiles broke out across her porcelain countenance when it dawned on her. _Of course! How silly am I!_

Sunlight began to pour through the nearby window, lighting up the expansive bedroom revealing the familiar 4-poster bed with its pale yellow drapes flowing from the canopy and the mixture of baby blue and yellow bed sheets. Straight ahead was her white wood vanity set covered with many assortments of toiletries and expensive perfume her husband specially bought from foreign lands.

The walls were cream colored—quite warm and inviting to its occupants and the floor was polished wooden boards that could show your reflection. At the foot of the bed was an extravagant Persian rug giving it an exotic feel almost.

A few priceless keepsakes were scattered throughout. Mostly of which were paintings and posters of her and her husband's favorite operas, plus a rare flute he acquired from one of his travels. One of Christine's favorite was the cinnamon root he would bring home that she would place them all around giving it a tasteful aroma.

The door swung open as two energetic girls came bouncing in. They landed on top of the bed, on top of Christine, giggling uncontrollably.

"Maman! Time to wake up!" cried the taller of the two. Her curly black hair mimicked her movements on the bed as she bobbed eagerly, her jaded eyes wise beyond her years but still pertaining their childish nature gaze at her mother with glee.

"Wake up!" echoed the youngest; her straight brown tresses were pulled up in a pink ribbon matching the little pink dress, her forget-me-not eyes growing impatient.

"I'm up! I'm up!" giggled Christine. "See?"

"Papa has breakfast set!"

"Can we go to the park?"

"Marguerite," Christine said. "We'll see about the park. But I'm starving and before we do anything, breakfast is in order."

Both girls sighed, knowing their mother was right. Smirking, Christine pinned them both to the bed and began tickling their sides.

"Ma-ma!" cried Madeleine, the oldest girl.

Christine laughed along with her daughters until she released them. Climbing out of bed, Christine took their hands and led them out to the dining room, where the aroma of an assortment of foods greeted their nostrils.

At the table already, sat her husband and her eldest, Charles. Charles was busy talking about his latest invention to his father, who listened in great apt.

Marguerite let go of Christine's hand and ran over to her father. "Papa! Maman's up! Maddy and I woke her!"

"You did?" He looked up at his wife and winked playfully. "I decided to let you sleep in a little late. I figured after what happened last night you would need it."

Christine smiled gratefully. "It was needed. Thank you… Erik."

_After all these years, I can't believe I'm married to him_, she thought happily, as he returned her smile.

The years were kind to him it was evident. Being surrounded by healthy children made him appear younger. His jet-black hair remained the same glossy color that she loved, his muscular gait still held his power and strength, and he was no longer pale or thin. Laugh lines crinkled around his soulful blue eyes that if entranced you could see the little golden specks in his pupils. His large body filled out, but by no means was he overweight. The ethereal pearl mask glowed on his face, covering the marred cheek, despite her pleas for its demise. But Erik insisted he must wear it when he goes to work and so she conceded.

He was dressed all elegantly, a style that never seems to leave him no matter the occasion. His usual attire consisted of his cotton white shirt under a black dress jacket and black silk puffed at the throat, the ebony pants hanging on tightly to his strong legs, and ending with a shiny pair of shoes. He was the epitome of the seductive darkness and mystery, yet so achingly beautiful.

He rose from his spot to move over to Christine, taking her delicate hand in his callous one and planted a sweet kiss on her knuckles, while bowing. The action sent the children snickering and making Erik smirk with amusement.

"Good morning _mon ange_," he whispered, leading her to her spot at the opposite end of the mahogany table before returning to his own.

Christine's stomach grumbled with renew hunger at the pile of baked goods in the middle. She reached out for a sweet roll before retreating. "Wait! What about Matthew?" she asked, realizing the jabbering toddler wasn't at his spot near Christine.

The loud chewing and tinkering of glass ceased abruptly. The fork in Erik's hand stopped midway and slowly came down to his plate. The girls were quiet as mice, eyes darting from their mother to their father in worry and dread. Charles stared at his half-eaten croissant, not daring to speak or look up.

"Christine…" Erik began and stopped. His lips were pursed in a thin line, his dark eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. His solemn expression started to frighten Christine and the children's silence wasn't helping much.

"Christine…" he said once more, then as if choosing his next words carefully, he spoke slowly, "Matthew's gone. He's not coming back, my dear. I know it's been hard but-"

"Maman, we miss him too. But could we forget about it… him today?" Madeleine asked softly.

Christine was at a loss for words. _What are they talking about? Matthew's fine! He's… oh my Lord…_

Her eyes began to mist and before she knew it, Erik was by her side, holding and gently squeezing her hand. "It's all right _mon amour_. We all miss him. It was a hard month for all of us, but it's time we move on. All right?"

She nodded silently, her eyes never leaving the mounds of breads. _It's all right. Everything's fine_, she kept telling herself.

She felt Erik's lips pressed to her cheek even after he walked back to his seat. In a flash, everything went back to what it was-- mouths chomping and talk shooting back and forth. Christine's dampen spirit suddenly lifted and she resumed the usual morning chatter. The past few minutes were forgotten.

When the servants cleared their dishes, Marguerite began inquiring once more about the park. "Can we please? You promise Papa!" she pouted.

Erik chuckled. "I did didn't I? Christine?"

Christine met his eyes and smiled warmly. Some fresh air would be good for all of them. "I think a trip to the park will be nice, but lessons before."

The kids groaned while Erik and Christine secretly smirk.

"Children, you heard your mother and I agree. So go up into the music room and we'll begin."

* * *

The hours flown by and the children were growing restless. Erik usually didn't tolerate any whining from his brood, but in this instant he wanted to go outside as badly as they did. It was a beautiful day all right.

He never could remember a time when he wanted to go out in public so desperately. Being married to Christine had changed his entire outlook on life for the best. He now enjoyed the simple pleasures each day brought and with his children he wanted to spend every minute giving them what he never had.

"That's enough for now. Maddy, could you go get your mother so we can leave?"

"Yes Papa."

He watched his middle child scurry off and he ushered the other two to get ready. Within minutes Christine emerged and they were ready to leave. Annette, the head maid, came out with a picnic basket and handed it to Erik.

"I figured you would like to have your supper at the park in this lovely weather," she explained.

Erik nodded. "Thank you Annette."

Once everyone was situated they went off walking to the park, which laid several miles off their stately manor. Christine looked behind her shoulder in awe over how they came to be in this place. It was hard to believe that twelve years ago was the event that forever changed their lives.

It seemed like only yesterday that Christine and her former fiancé left her fallen angel at the bowels of the Opera Populaire all alone and in anguish. Christine felt torn between Erik and Raoul, but in the end she left with her childhood sweetheart all confused and lost. It wasn't until a couple days afterwards when Christine realized she couldn't survive without Erik by her side. Raoul was distraught in having her leave, but it was for the best they knew. Christine wouldn't have been happy if she stayed with him.

It was by pure luck and grace that she found Erik before he fled the country. Together they went to England to start anew. Erik began composing a few pieces here and there; collecting whatever money he could from his music and doing odd jobs until they were able to buy a decent home. It wasn't as big as they had hoped, but for a start of a new family, it worked fine. Christine had Charles.

The couple was overjoyed with their first child and Erik wanted to ensure his son had the life he never had. Erik worked furiously on his music until a wealthy patron decided to invest in him. Overnight his music took flight and before the Destlers' knew it, they were out attending parties with the English aristocracy.

Christine continued to sing in the leading roles (Erik wouldn't have it any other way), but it wasn't until a few years after when she was pregnant with Madeleine that she had to quit the stage.

Her pregnancy for her second proved to be quite difficult and the poor diva had to be confined to bed rest. Erik fretted over her and attended to her every whim in fear he would lose the only woman he ever loved. Luckily, the Gods smiled upon them for the labor was less painful as originally thought. But Christine was warned not to get pregnant right away in fear the next might kill her.

It wasn't until a couple of years after giving birth to Maddy, she found herself pregnant once more. This time they decided it was safe to return to France. From what their old friend Nadir and Madame Giry told them, the Phantom had died out and there was no more searches. Sometime during their leave, Raoul remarried and any fears of him interfering were lost.

Erik bought their new home on the outskirts of Paris. It was private enough for him to move around without wearing his mask and avoiding any curious neighbors. The mansion was a dream to Christine, a castle almost in the fairy tales her father used to tell her.

It was a medieval style home covered in ivy with gardens stretched all over the grounds. Christine loved it best in the summertime when all the flowers and plants are finally in bloom and her and Erik can enjoy long walks under the moonlight through the little mazes and paths. It was the place she wanted her children raised.

Erik continued to give Christine her singing lessons as well as the children. Music was an important aspect to the family and neither would let any of the children be without. Christine was proud in how their children turned out. There was no doubt in her mind that they would change the world.

Charles was in every way his father's son. He carried the same musical genius traits, as Erik and he loved to create all sorts of knickknacks from items around the house. He was a handsome lad, with his mother's curly brown hair and curious hazel eyes with a dash of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

He definitely had his father's strength, which was recognized early on. Charles liked doing chores around the house and he was a great help to the servants. At the age of seven, Charles invented a pair of clogs aligned with soft fabrics and cushion for the elder servants so the work wouldn't strain their feet and help them get out-of-reach items.

Madeleine was a beauty and a bright child. She enjoyed nature very much and she would spend most of her time wandering the gardens, collecting plants and specimens to study. She had Christine's gift of singing and though she loved music, young Maddy preferred the sciences and mysteries of the universe.

From the start, she was always inquisitive about how things work and move. She would tear apart anything she could get her hands on and then try to rebuild it while learning the different parts and their jobs. But her hobby was gathering insects. She had a wide range collection of butterflies and other bugs including some exotic beetles that Erik found for her on one of his trips to Africa.

Marguerite could be described as Daddy's Little Girl. She shared Erik's slyness and whirlwinds of moods and her ingenious ways of finding trouble. She also was cursed with Christine's curiosity and would be caught in some wild tale that would be outlandish. But nonetheless, she was quite brilliant and Erik was positive she would make a great storyteller.

_I'm so lucky_, she thought dreamily. She had a loving, wonderful husband and three beautiful and talented children. What more could she ask for?

They made it to the park; the children were up ahead playing a game of tag. Christine and Erik walked alongside the man-made lake, enjoying their brief moments of solitude.

"What are you thinking about _mon ange_?" Christine asked.

Erik shrugged. "I'm outside with my family, with my lovely wife by my side. What more can I ask for? I never thought this would even be possible."

"It is my love. I'm glad I caught up with you before…"

He grinned. "Me too. Imagine my shock when I saw you by the docks calling for me. I thought I was hallucinating."

She laughed. "Oh no Erik! I was very real that night and I'm still am."

"Let's hope so. Otherwise, I make a fool of myself by boasting about my loving imaginary family," Erik teased. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The rest of the day went by quickly as dusk began to settle. The children were growing tired and were covered in grass stains and dirt. Charles taking the basket and Erik with Marguerite in his arms, they began their trek back home and to a much needed bath.

Christine helped the girls clean up and somehow ended in a splash war. Soaked through, Christine sent the girls to bed while she quickly went to her room to change into a pink satin nightgown (another gift from Erik) and after throwing on a robe; she went back to say goodnight.

"Maman, would you sing us a lullaby?" piped up Maddy. Marguerite bounced on her bed next to Maddy's. "Please?"

"Okay, okay. What shall I sing then?"

"Um… _Angel of Music!_ I love that one," Maddy said, smiling.

"All right. But then you two must go to sleep," Christine told them. They nodded eagerly as Christine sat on the corner of Maddy's bed. She took a deep breath and sang the song she used to call for Erik so long ago.

"_Angel of Music!_

_Guide and Guardian_

_Grant to me your glory!_

_Angel of Music_

_Come sing with me_

_Strange angel…"_

By the time she finished, the girls were fast asleep. Christine kissed their foreheads and murmured, "Goodnight my little angels."

She quietly left to go over into the next room.

Erik sat by his son, telling him a story from Persia, when Christine entered. Her husband turned and to her joy he removed his mask. She nodded for him to continue his tale, which he did to the impatient eleven-year-old. Once it was over, both mother and father wished their son a goodnight before retiring to their own room.

"Is there anything you need before we turn in?" Erik asked.

The brunette shook her head. "No thanks. Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"D-do you think I'm a bad mother?"

He looked up at her astonished and surprised at the question. "No Christine! What ever makes you think so?"

"Well, do you think Matthew will forgive me?"

His face went rigid. "What do you mean?"

"When we were at the park, I was thinking about how lucky we are to have three children. I forgot about Matthew! Doesn't that make me a horrible mother to forget her flesh and blood?" She fell on the bed and wept.

"No no." Erik went over and embraced his wife, gently stroking her curls. "You're moving on. It's all right. He loves you no matter what."

She lifted her tear-stained cheeks and managed a small smile. "Thank you Erik."

"Now that's been taken care of, are you sure you don't need anything? You've been having some terrible nightmares as of late and one of my sleeping potions should help prevent those nasty images."

"No. It'll be fine. Honestly," she insisted at her husband's frown. "There's no need to worry Erik."

"If you say so my dear." But he wasn't convinced in the slightest as she snuggled under the covers.

* * *

No! No! This isn't real!

_Christine jumped up in a fit of raging tears and screamed his name. Hands from all over took hold of her and pulled her down onto the bed. She tried fighting them off, but their hold on her was too much in her fragile state. There were too many. They didn't understand. They would never understand._

_A strange, almost inhumane shriek left her lips, "He's dead!"_

* * *

"I don't know what to tell you daroga. Her nightmares has been getting worse this past month," Erik exclaimed to his confidante and friend.

A tall dark-haired man, sitting opposite of Erik, rubbed his chin taking in his troubled friend's words.

"I hate seeing her like this, so much pain and tears. I thought everything would turn out normal once it was over. I'm afraid I'm losing her!"

"Have you explained to her about Matthew?" Nadir finally spoke.

Erik sighed heavily, shook his head wearily running his fingers through his hair. "I can't! I cannot do that to her Nadir!"

"Erik, my friend, you must tell her the truth. Otherwise she'll be stuck in this mis-"

"I said 'No' daroga!" Erik yelled, jumping out of his seat. His eyes were alit in a golden fury. "Do not ever advise me to do so. I love her! I LOVE HER!"

He collapsed back into his chair, tears streaming down his face. "I love her."

"I know Erik. I know," the Persian said softly. He walked over to him and laid his hand on Erik's quivering shoulder. "But love can't undo everything that's thrown in our paths. It's Allah's will Erik and you must accept it."

"Bu the children-"

"They'll understand. Right now those children need a mother. You need to bring her back."

"Why is this happening to me?" Erik whispered to no one in particular. "This wasn't suppose to happen I…"

"You'll survive Erik. You were always strong like that and you continue to be."

"I suppose." Erik stood and walked over the window. The sky was overcast and the threat of oncoming rain seemed to loom over. He watched a young couple pass by, the woman's belly wide with child.

Turning towards his friend, Erik nodded. "I suppose."

Nadir nodded in agreement. "It's the right thing my friend."

"It is. Well, I better go now. It might rain any second and I hate to cause Christine any worry."

"All right. I'll send for an hansom…"

"Don't bother. I'll walk."

"Erik, do you think that wise with your heart and all?" he asked worried.

The masked man shrugged. "I'm fast. And it's not that long of a walk Nadir."

"Very well then. Give my blessings to Christine."

* * *

"Maman, could you brush my hair? Maddy does it too hard."

"I do not!"

Christine rolled her eyes and laughed. "Hand me your brush Marguerite."

She proceeded to brush her youngest hair with the utmost care so she wouldn't hurt her. "You have lovely hair. Now, would you like me to pull it up with a hair ribbon?"

Marguerite thought about it and said no. "I want you to put in a bun like Annette's!"

Christine eyes widen. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Christine did her best with the bun much to Marguerite's joy. "Thank you Maman!"

Christine watched her sadly leave and sat by the bedroom's window. The morning was so bright and lively, now it was heading towards midday and the sun was no longer out and rain came beating down from the heavens.

Erik had gone to visit the Persian despite Christine's protests. She wanted him to stay and entertain the children or at least spend some time with her. The past month he has been spending too much time over at Nadir's house and it bothered her. He never told her what went on like he normally did and she felt like she was missing out on something. What she didn't know.

She perked up once she saw her husband running through the rain towards the house. Christine got up and ran to the door to greet him.

Erik was at the foyer, dripping wet from head to toe. His bulky frame shook as he let out a dry cough.

"Erik! You must put on some warm clothes right away. You could have caught your death out there!" she cried.

A wry grin played on his purplish-blue lips. "I'm afraid I did Christine."

Her jaw dropped and before she could ask what he meant, Erik erupted in a storm of coughs. The force of each one sent his body sprawling to the floor.

"No… no!" Christine gasped in horror. "Charles! Maddy! Annette! Someone help please!"

She ran to her husband and led him to the parlor. His skin was chilled to the bone, instantly reminding her of the similar feel when he was the Phantom of the Opera. An unpleasant sour stench filled the room as she tried hard not to gag. It seemed at long last, Death has arrived.

"Charles!" she screamed once more, but no one answered. _Where is everyone? Why are they not answering me? Oh Erik!_

She dragged him to the settee and helped him lay down. Quickly, she set to work on removing his damp clothes, leaving his pants. The mask, all of a sudden, he stubbornly refused to take off. "Leave me Christine," he said weakly, but the demanding tone going unnoticed.

"No Erik. I'm not leaving and don't ask me too," she scolded him. "I knew you going to your friend's house was a bad idea. Don't move. I'll go fetch Charles-"

"Let it be Christine," Erik interrupted and then coughed.

At her befuddled expression, he continued. "You're not going to find him or anyone else."

She stared at him in disbelief and a bit mystified. Lying on the couch, he appeared to be in the same state twelve years ago when he forced her to leave. He was pushing her away when she wanted nothing more than to help her husband. Why did he have to be so stubborn? She opened her mouth to speak, when he cut her off.

"I'm ready Christine. I've been ready my whole life for this."

As he spoke, his body seemed to deteriorate as exhaustion swept over his features, his skin becoming colder and turning into a deathly white.

Taking a deep breath, she tried not to show her fear to him. "Don't talk like that Erik. It's just a cold or the flu. You'll be fine and then we can sing and play games with the children. It'll be just like it was before I promise."

Then he did what she least expected. He laughed a chilling sound that sent shivers down her spine. He continued laughing in his dark manner while she tried to reason with him.

"Erik, you're not well. You're not even acting like yourself! I'll go and get a doctor and you'll be fine…."

"Yes! A doctor! That's what he said as well! 'Your wife needs a doctor Erik. Get one before it's too late'. I laughed at him. I tried to prove him… them all wrong. But I failed, you see. I failed you."

"You didn't fail me Erik. I don't want you're talking about, but everything will be all right. These are only ravings. Now, Erik, please try and save your strength. I'll be gone only for a few moments."

"Don't be foolish. You need help as much as I do! Mad I am! They all believe me mad! And I am! Mad about you!"

His accusation stung her. "What?" _What the Hell is going on? This is not my Erik. My Erik doesn't sound like this. _

As if reading her thoughts, his lips twisted into an unsettling grin. "Why haven't you forgotten your Angel? The Angel of Death has returned my dear."

"Stop this madness!" she finally burst into tears. "Stop it now! You're scaring me Erik!"

"Ah, but haven't I always frightened you child? My love and obsession for you drove you away from me! You never could understand and you still don't. Your _precious _little Vicomte was all the love you ever needed," Erik snarled.

Christine swayed back and forth. "Why are you saying this to me? Haven't I been a good wife to you?"

His mad smile remained plastered on his façade. "Oh, you've been a very good wife indeed. Giving me a life I never thought I could possibly have. But I never thought you were mad as me."

"Mad? Erik, tell me what's wrong with you? Why are you saying this?" Christine whispered brokenly, her body wracking with sobs.

"Matthew, my dear, Matthew!" he cried. "For a month you mourned the death of someone who never existed!"

"Erik!" she moaned, her hands covering her ears as she shook and mumbled incoherently. "No!"

"Yes! He was in your mind! We never had another son! We never had any children!"

"Stop it Erik!"

"I'm dying Christine. I'm dying of love for you and you denied me. You left me to rot at the opera house. I loved you so much. Couldn't you see that?"

Christine continued crying. _Don't listen. It's not true. It's not true._

"Why couldn't you stay with me? We would have our music, our love, and one day our children-"

"WE DID!" she screamed suddenly. "We did! We did! We did!"

She pounded her little fists onto his chest, cursing him and herself. "Damn you Erik! It's your fault! Your fault!"

Her warm hazel eyes were now darkened with unbridled anger as she pummeled him. "Answer me! ANSWER ME!"

But he made no sound. Christine watched him carefully and gently pushed his side, waiting for a reaction. Nothing.

His blue eyes were open but held no trace of life in them. They stared up blankly at the ceiling, his mouth drooping as if preparing to have the last word. And he did. His silence.

Infuriated and miserable all at once, Christine started to beat on him again. He was wrong! He was wrong! He was wr-

* * *

"It's over now."

Doctor Jean-Pierre Murdock, family physician for twenty years, leaned forward to examine the young woman.

The last few hours were intense and hectic for the doctor and the rest of the household. The Comtess was claimed by high fever and delirium, making it hard for him to treat her. The seriousness of her state became violent that he and several other servants had to hold her down. It was unlike anything he had ever seen happen to someone so young.

"Sir?"

"Yes Matthew?" the elderly doctor asked. Matthew was one of the stable boys at the de Chagny household and was quite close to the Comtess as was his sister, Marguerite, who was her personal maid.

"C-could my sister come to see her? She's been asking…"

He nodded. "I know this is hard for the both of you. But it'll be for the best if you stay by her side. She was terribly close to her wasn't she?"

"They were like mother and daughter sir," Matthew replied as he went off to fetch his little sister.

Sighing, Doctor Murdock got up and went to tell the unfortunate Comte of his wife's fate. _What a pity_, he thought sadly. _First his parents and now this. She was a pretty thing with her life in front of her._

It was only a week ago that he saw her so full of life. It was in the same day that he confirmed to Christine she was _enceinte_. The news made her excited, but at the time there was a hint of sadness creeping behind those doe brown eyes that Murdock simply dismissed. He didn't realize how soon he would have to see her again once the frantic Comte called on him about her condition.

In the literal sense, she cracked.

The cause he couldn't begin to figure out. There were no warning signs that would show whether or not if the Comtess were unstable. But what took place in that room for the last forty-eight hours he had his suspicions.

He entered the Comte's study where he found him sitting at his desk. His flaxen hair was disheveled and his eyes bloodshot. In one hand was a half-burning cigar and other in the other was a half-empty bottle of brandy. He looked like he'd been to Hell and back.

"How is she Doctor Murdock?" the boy nervously asked.

Murdock lowered his head as he spoke:

"I'm sorry le Comte but your wife passed moments ago."

A little thud of the cigar came as a low, rasping sound came from the Comte. Murdock felt awful. He hated to do this but someone had to tell the widower.

"D-did she go in peace?" came the choked voice, barely recognizable.

Murdock couldn't lie to him as much as he have liked. The Comte was a good man and deserved to know the truth. "She had a tough fight but her heart couldn't continue in the path she was heading. She was quiet before she was gone."

"Christine!" the wretched sob filled the room. Murdock winced at his master's tone. _No man should go through this. Not one when's he so young_, the good doctor thought to himself.

"Her case, sir, I must admit it's unusual. Normally when one suffers what she did there would have been some kind of warning or hint that there was something amiss. But she was the very picture of perfect health the last I saw her and you said yourself it was all rather sudden. But there's something I need to ask as much this might hurt you, but in her delirious state she was calling out to someone. Erik it was. Before you were wedded was she involved with another?"

The question stunned the Comte momentarily before a brief flash of hatred swept through his features, that Murdock could have sworn looked nothing like him. But it was all the evidence he needed to know his suspicions were right. She was.

"He's part of the past. She—we both put it behind us."

"Maybe so Comte but apparently she couldn't let go. Now this could have been brought by a guilty conscience that got the best of her or as absurd as this may sound a broken heart. Tell me, when she broke the news of being with child how did she react?"

"C-child?" the poor man sputtered. "She was with child?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No Doctor. Why?"

Murdock shrugged. "A woman's mind is complex and confusing. After thirty years of marriage I still don't understand my wife. But it could be of guilt. Her having another man's child while her heart is set for another is devastating."

"Indeed. But I don't think that's all true."

"How so?"

Raoul stood up and wandered over to the portrait of his parents. _God bless their souls, _Murdock thought.

"She loved us both you see. Maybe him more than I or the other way around, but she still loved us. A curse for any human being to be torn between."

Murdock nodded in agreement.

"But I thought we were free. How naïve of me to think we could escape him. His presence always seems to be there. But no matter what she still held her Angel a place in her heart."

"Comte?"

"An odd Angel he was. But Christine always saw the best in people, even ones we believe are to be condemned. That was part of her curse as well. She saw past his face and into the man. The man who wanted to live, as we need the air to breathe.

"I know there was something wrong with my wife, Doctor, but I stubbornly refused to pay attention. Did you know on our wedding night she cried? She cried for him, her poor Erik. And she was always so distant. Just looking into her eyes I knew she wasn't there, looking at me. I felt I was staring at some stranger in my wife's body. But when she did speak to me he somehow always got brought up. It seemed to make her feel better when she did and being as supportive and understanding as I could, I listened. I found it hard to believe but this man with the face of a demon had a mother. Her name was Madeleine, Christine said…"

Murdock gave the young man a strange, though sympathetic look. He didn't understand what the point was being made, but the Comte sure did.

"I didn't mean to pry—"

Raoul waved him off. "No. This should be out. At least it won't let her death be a mystery to us."

He walked back to his desk and pulled out a newspaper from one of the drawers. He handed it over to Murdock who looked at the date. _June 1st. Why that was two days ago!_

"What am I looking for sir?"

But the Comte didn't have to answer him. He found it in the heavyset font—

**_Erik is dead_**.

The End


End file.
